


The sweetest of words

by blackkat



Series: A snake among the leaves [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: And violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussions of Sociopathy, F/M, Family Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentor & Students, Orochimaru is tricksy, Time Travel, isn't it lovely how Naruto can have both?, lots of plotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orochimaru has debts to settle and plans to set in motion. Second chances are rare enough; he’s hardly about to waste this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sweetest of words

**Author's Note:**

> This has been lurking on my hard drive for several months already, and I've finally (mostly) come to terms with it. My brother insists it’s not actually as horrible as I think it is, but I'm sick of looking at it and someone asked very nicely for the next part of this series, so I'm just going to cross my fingers and hope someone enjoys my ridiculousness. Argh.
> 
> (As a reminder, this goes AU pre-Kaguya. In other words, Madara’s the final boss. No rabbit goddesses here, sorry. And the title is from Florence + the Machine again, because I'm still ridiculously uncreative.)

 “I find myself in a position that necessitates the temporary loan of one of your shinobi,” Orochimaru tells his teacher politely.

Sarutobi glances up, pulling the pipe away from his lips, and just for a moment there's a flicker of…something. It dances across his face, slides through his eyes and is buried again, but Orochimaru sees it, knows it.

It’s been a little over a week since he came to in his thirty-six year old body, Danzo knocking at his door with the proposal that would have destroyed his future as a Konoha shinobi. Seven days. No time at all, really, especially in the face of old doubts and deeply-rooted suspicions. Orochimaru knows that Sarutobi has always watched him a little more carefully than he has anyone else, a little more closely. Tsunade has always been straightforward and blunt, easy to read. Jiraiya wears his heart on his sleeve and his determination in his eyes, and can so simply be dismissed as a big mouth and a big heart and a brain that can't quite keep up with either. But Orochimaru—

Orochimaru is a genius, is a killer, and Sarutobi knows that he is the one to be wary of, regardless of what pride he might have for his part in Orochimaru’s rearing. Sarutobi is well able to love him and fear him at the same time, and that underlying mix of emotion has never changed. Only the proportions, and the Sandaime’s willingness to act on the latter, rather than the former.

At this point in time, Sarutobi still loves him, still views him as a son, and Orochimaru is more than willing to use that to his advantage, regardless of his sensei’s wariness.

There's a beat of silence, and then Sarutobi sighs, breathing out a cloud of sweet smoke that whirls out the open window and into the gathering dusk. “Orochimaru,” he says, his tone somewhere between weariness and caution, “we have spoken of this before. I cannot condone any experiments—”

Orochimaru snorts before he can control himself—it’s been a very long time since he had to, after all—and Sarutobi's eyes narrow faintly. Seeing that, Orochimaru raises a hand to halt the lecture on respect and position before it can even begin. He’s heard it directed at Jiraiya often enough that it’s still ingrained in his memory, even (for him) decades later.

“I already submitted my report as to the closing of my testing facilities,” he reminds the man, and the thought twinges faintly. They were beautiful labs, just as sleek and sophisticated as his old ones in Sound, and constructed to his every specification. But at this point in time, it’s better to remove the temptation—and any doubts as to his standing as a loyal Konoha shinobi. Namikaze Minato may already have been picked to be the Hokage Candidate, but Orochimaru is hardly about to let the past (the future?) repeat itself, and is attempting to set himself up as a prime candidate for advisor. Or even a friendly ear willing to share a few thoughts for the good of the village—he’s prepared to make do with either at this point.

His next actions will feed into building trust nicely, if he can just convince Sarutobi to grant his request.

Marshalling his wandering thoughts—because he’s used to being the one in charge, and therefore having the luxury to allow such things in himself—Orochimaru glances up to meet Sarutobi's sharp, steady gaze. “No experiments,” he repeats, letting Sarutobi read the truth on his face. He has honestly never been very good at hiding things from his old teacher. Danzo’s assistance was the only reason he managed it, previously, along with the Hokage's own preoccupation with Minato and his upcoming retirement. “However, I will require someone fairly competent, and preferably with a range of skills. I have recently received a fairly…worrisome report from an informant in the north, and feel compelled to investigate personally, given the circumstances and the current state of the war.”

Sarutobi's brows lift ever so faintly at the word _worrisome_ , and he frowns. Orochimaru has never been one to exaggerate—that’s Jiraiya's area, and Orochimaru is more given to dry understatement, if anything. He can see the way Sarutobi weighs his words clearly on the lined face, and doesn’t quite breathe a breath of relief when the odds tip in his favor, though it’s a near thing. Of course, it’s to his advantage that the Third Shinobi World War is in full swing at the moment, and the Sandaime can't afford to let anything dangerous slip past his guard.

“Jiraiya will not return from the frontlines for another four days,” is all he say, however.

That’s actually one of the reasons Orochimaru is hoping to leave tonight, actually. For the last week, Jiraiya has stuck to him like a particularly stubborn rash, and while Orochimaru is not…displeased by this turn of events, it’s fairly inconvenient. He needs the assistance of someone who doesn’t know him well enough to question any move that might be…slightly out of character, for the man he used to be.

A soft snort draws Orochimaru’s eyes back to his sensei, who is watching him with an amused expression that says he knows at least the general direction of Orochimaru’s thoughts perfectly. “Ah,” the Sandaime murmurs, arching a brow at him and tucking his pipe back in the corner of his mouth with a slightly smug grin. “So that’s how it is, my boy.”

Orochimaru rolls his eyes, making sure Sarutobi gets a good look at the expression no matter how subtle it is, and refrains from commenting.

Sarutobi chuckles at him, warmth covering whatever lingering wariness might be hiding in his eyes. “I assume you have an idea of whom you would like to take?” he asks, instead of pursuing the matter. Orochimaru is…grateful. _Slightly_.

(He still wakes up thinking he’s dreamed all of this, every time he sleeps. Wakes up thinking that Sasuke is dead, fallen defending Naruto, and his team with him. That Jiraiya is months dead, that Tsunade's body is still cooling on the ground in pieces, that Orochimaru himself has been struck down, Kusanagi an immobile, tearing ache in his chest as it pins him to the earth like so much carrion. And seeing Jiraiya, who insists Orochimaru stay at his apartment, immediately after such thoughts, is—well.

He is not one for sentiment, and never has been. But it seems Jiraiya brings it out in him, no matter how he tries to resist.)

“I do,” Orochimaru murmurs, inclining his head, and this is the test. This is the gauge of how much trust Sarutobi still holds in him, battered as that trust may be. “I would like Hatake Kakashi to accompany me, if at all possible.”

Sarutobi blinks at that, visibly stumped, and sits back in his chair to eye Orochimaru appraisingly. Orochimaru meets his stare evenly, wondering with faint amusement if Sarutobi expects him to start fidgeting or something of the sort. He never has, never did even as a tiny child. And it is…entertaining, to watch the thoughts fly with quicksilver speed behind Sarutobi's blank features, cunning and calculating. For all his morals, for all his principles, Sarutobi Hiruzen is a shinobi, and beyond that, he was a student of the Nidaime, who was one of the most ruthlessly practical, cautious men in existence. Such things, when learned as a child, are not so easily forgotten.

“I will admit,” Sarutobi says after a beat, “I had expected you to request one of the Uchiha. Itachi, perhaps.”

Orochimaru only just manages not to grimace. He’d thought about it, because that’s another thing to fix, Itachi and his deeply ingrained trauma—which is, of course, only being exacerbated by that worthless family of his and the war that’s raging—but had dismissed the notion almost immediately. He isn’t willing to risk divided loyalties in his allies when facing down Uchiha Madara himself. Kakashi, for all that he bears one of the Sharingan, is most definitely not an Uchiha, and moreover, he’s desperate to prove his worth—if only to himself—in the wake of Obito's supposed death.

Casting around for a polite turn of phrase, Orochimaru says carefully, “Forgive me, sensei, but I had thought you wished me nowhere near the Uchiha, and especially that one, given my interest in the Sharingan and my…” He stumbles, attempting to locate a word that won't be either unfavorable or false. Failing, he lets his grimace slip through in sheer frustration, because he is…not the man he was before Jiraiya's death, so easily able to overlook his own flaws.

Jiraiya died as he was, as he had lived, but Orochimaru had no such luxury.

Even before his return to the past, simply _observing_ the past and his part in it had changed him, if only in small ways.

Subtle, perhaps, but pervasive.

Sarutobi lets out a soft breath, pulling Orochimaru’s gaze back to him. His sensei is wearing a small, soft, sad smile. Weary, he looks, Orochimaru thinks, and remembers suddenly that in a few short months, Sarutobi will be setting aside the hat. For good this time, if Orochimaru has any hand at all in how the future will play out.

“I am…aware of how you struggle with some things,” Sarutobi offers delicately, though his gaze is still perfectly steady. “Things that I perhaps should have shown you more clearly, when you were my student. Morality and boundaries can be quite flexible in our world, I'm afraid, which does not make things easier.”

Orochimaru, too, is aware that he is not…normal, in the way he sees things. He wants, he’s interested, and so he studies, he takes. There is something in him that is broken, or perhaps simply missing, which when present in others works to tell them _stop, enough_. Orochimaru has never heard that little voice in the back of his mind, not unless it came from Jiraiya hovering at his shoulder. Always Orochimaru has viewed things in softer shades and gradations, greys and blurred lines where others see only black and white and stark-sharp divisions, and so very often it _frustrates_ him, living among Konoha's shinobi, because he _knows_ he’s understanding things differently but he can't comprehend any other way of thinking.

Sarutobi tried to teach him. Tsunade did, as well, all gentle voice and caring touch.

Jiraiya has never tried. Jiraiya stomps right up to him and informs him of his failings, usually loudly and at length. There is no tiptoeing, no care. Such things aren’t in Jiraiya's nature unless he’s spying on a women’s bathhouse. And Orochimaru finds that he appreciates such blatant, unflinching honesty far more than delicately worded lessons.

And because he remembers two full decades without Jiraiya as his compass; because, even though they were enemies for the last half of their lives, he still remembers the sudden sense of _loss_ when he was informed of Jiraiya's death at the hands of his one-time allies; because he is _back_ and because he of all people has a second chance to do things over—

Because of that, Orochimaru looks down at where his hands are clasped in his lap and says softly, deliberately, “Jiraiya has always helped. And I find myself rather more willing to listen now, with…certain influences gone.”

Implicating Danzo in his personality change is simple enough—he is dead, after all, and cannot protest. It’s far simpler than the full truth, at least, should he spell everything out.

From the subtle tightening of Sarutobi's mouth and the deepening of the lines across his forehead and around his eyes, he makes the assumption Orochimaru wants him to, and doesn’t like it. With a sharp nod, he tucks his pipe back into his mouth and takes a long pull, then lets it out on a heavy sigh. “Very well,” he says evenly, reaching for a form and passing it over without pause. “Your request is granted. Record the details and I will notify Kakashi. But please, Orochimaru, bring him back in one piece. I doubt even I could protect you from Minato's wrath, should something happen to one of his two remaining students.”

Orochimaru carefully doesn’t say that soon the number will be increasing. Instead, he inclines his head and takes the pen Sarutobi offers, filling out the paperwork by rote even after so many years. “The boy will be safe with me,” he promises, and is almost startled to find he means it. This…excess of sincerity must be going to his head. To compound it, he even finds himself adding, “If anything is to happen with Jiraiya—”

That makes Sarutobi laugh at him, waving him away with an indulgent smile. “I don’t think I've heard you say such things since—since the last war,” he chuckles.

(But Orochimaru can all but hear what he was originally going to say. _Since Tsunade left_. Because it had broken him, or at least something in him, when she did. Jiraiya had been in Ame, and Tsunade had simply walked away from Konoha. From _their_ _team_. Orochimaru had been left adrift and without anchor, and had hated it.

He had resented her at the time, deeply and furiously, because he [is] was a base, jealous, possessive man when it came to the things he held dear, as few as they were. Tsunade was one, most certainly, and yet she was the very one who had ripped herself away.

But the resentment faded over the years. It disappeared entirely when she fell, worn and wearied and broken, unable to go on despite her massive strength and deep reserve of willpower.)

“Sensei,” Orochimaru says, faintly aggrieved, as he fixes the Hokage with a narrow gaze. After all, he has until the Nohara girl’s death to rescue Obito. Only after that will there be no possibility of return. And already the face of this time has changed with Danzo's disposal. Perhaps Root’s absence is enough to create a threat capable of killing Jiraiya, and Orochimaru is not about to let his work and the pain and effort he invested in it go to waste.

( _Sentiment_ , he thinks with some measure of self-disgust. _Naïve, foolish sentiment_. But for all of that, he doesn’t try to push it down or change it.)

Sarutobi just snorts at him, shooing him towards the door with a wave of his hand as he returns to his papers. “Off, off with you. Should something happen I will send a summons immediately, but Jiraiya is more than capable of looking after himself and you have work of your own to do, Orochimaru.”

“Hokage-sama,” Orochimaru allows with another roll of his eyes, bowing briefly before slipping out the door. In the hall, he pauses, takes a breath, and then shakes himself back to full awareness, setting everything else aside.

He has a mission to prepare for, and a one-time (future?) ally to retrieve.

 

Kakashi watches, suspended somewhere between horror and disbelief, as Kushina bolts down her fifth bowl of ramen. She swallows the burning hot broth and noodles with a speed that is simply inhuman, then drops the empty bowl on top of the stack in front of her and calls, “Hey, Teuchi, another miso ramen when you’ve got a second!”

Kakashi glances down at his all but untouched bowl, imagines eating _six_ of them, and then grimaces and slides it to his left. Kushina seizes it with a cheer and downs that, too.

On Kakashi's right, Rin giggles softly, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle the sound, and then says, “You know you're just enabling her, right, Kakashi? Teuchi usually cuts her off after five.”

“Because he’s a tightfisted, mercenary bastard who knows all the best ways to ensure I keep coming back,” Kushina butts in, though she sounds entirely cheerful about it. She’s eating a little more slowly this time, clearly savoring every bite.

Teuchi laughs, not taking any offense at the remark. “Kushina-chan, the day you stop being my best customer is the day I hang up my apron for good. I don’t think I could get rid of you even if I gave you as many bowls as you could eat.”

Kushina winks and flashes him a victory sign. “You know I love you, Teuchi. If you weren’t married, I’d drop this lug in a heartbeat.”

“Hey,” Minato protests mildly, but he’s watching his girlfriend with a beaming, utterly besotted expression that kind of makes Kakashi's skin crawl. “I’m heading out to the frontlines tomorrow. What if something happens? Do you really want my last memory of you to be you offering to trade me in for a ramen chef?”

Rin’s giggling too hard to speak at this point, and Kakashi sort of wonders if he could sink off his stool and belly-crawl for the door without getting caught. Team lunches are always a little off, now, and like this, with everyone else so cheerful and lighthearted—

Well. Kakashi knows that they haven’t forgotten who should be sitting on Rin’s other side, but…it feels like it, sometimes. Because Obito is _dead_ , Obito is _gone_ , and somehow Minato and Rin and Kushina are all still able to laugh without a care, and that’s just… _not right_.

His left eye stings, like tears rising, and Kakashi is thankful for the hitai-ate covering it, thankful that no one else can see this little moment of weakness. Bad enough that his hands are fisted white-knuckled in his lap, his shoulders tight and hunched as he glares down at them. Bad enough that it feels as though Kakashi is the only one in all the world to mourn his teammate, who died because of him, died _for_ him.

It aches. It aches and tears and wrenches at him at every hour of the day. And at night, he sees it over and over again, boulders falling and hands on him, callused and strong, throwing him bodily out of the way. Then nothing but blood and dust and a horrible, ghastly smile, a goodbye Kakashi was in no way ready for. Not when he’d finally—

Not when—

Like a saving grace, there's a flutter of wide wings in the small stall and a messenger hawk drops to the counter in front of Kakashi, back-winging hard and then settling with surprising grace. Kakashi reaches for it instantly, opening the message tube and withdrawing the tightly rolled scroll.

(It hurts, thinking of Obito. He’s _helpless_ in the grip of those thoughts, remembering the cave, the boulders, remembering how his muscles strained trying to push them off, futilely, futilely. Remembering that the only thing Obito asked of him was what he should have been doing all along, protecting his teammates, acting like a _shinobi_ rather than a spoiled little brat.)

“A mission?” Minato asks curiously, leaning around Kushina to get a closer look.

Kakashi nods, pushing aside thoughts of the empty stool on Rin’s right. Even in the midst of a war, Konoha is still taking missions still trying to earn the funds to keep fighting, and as a newly promoted jounin, Kakashi gets more than his share of them. He’s better as a solo fighter and assassin, rather than a soldier, and the Hokage uses him as such.

“Partnered,” he says with some surprise, studying the sparse details. “It’s intelligence and reconnaissance. With…” He blinks, rereads the name of his partner just to make sure he’s not hallucinating, and finishes with some bewilderment, “Orochimaru.”

Minato stiffens noticeably, blue eyes narrowing, and demands, “ _What?_ ”

Unlike Kakashi, Orochimaru _is_ a frontline fighter. He’s powerful, overwhelmingly so, and very, very good at decimating large groups at a time. He’s already been on leave for a week; to then put him on a mission that takes him away from the battlefield means that it’s an exceedingly important mission, and that Kakashi is accompanying him means it’s not the kind of thing that even the Snake Sannin can handle alone. The thought is…unsettling.

“What’s wrong with Orochimaru?” Kushina asks, dropping her now-empty bowl on the top of the teetering stack and sinking back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. She raises a brow at Minato's almost constipated expression and snorts. “Oh, come on. I know he’s creepy, but he’s a genius. If anyone can keep Kashi-chan out of trouble, it will be him.”

Kakashi debates sticking his tongue out at her for the nickname, but decides that will probably be counterproductive and settles on a hard glare. The redhead blithely ignores it.

Minato waves his hands wildly, either objecting to her words or having a small seizure. “But—!”

“He’s not that bad, sensei,” Rin pipes up unexpectedly, and smiles a little self-consciously at finding all eyes suddenly on her. “He, um, hunted me down the other day because he’d heard I was studying soldier pills, and he’s been trying to create a formula that won't have such an effect on the body once it wears off. I know a lot of people don’t like him, Minato-sensei, but he’s really smart. I don’t think that anyone in the village knows more about biology and chemistry and how they interact.”

With a soft sigh, Minato folds his arms across his chest. “Be that as it may,” he says, a little sternly. “Sarutobi-sama warned me to keep an eye on him. He’s suspected Orochimaru of…pushing the boundaries of ethics with his research lately, and it’s hardly unlikely. Yes, he knows a lot about biology, but most of it comes from experimenting on captured enemy soldiers, and I can't condone that.”

“Or,” Kushina interjects, “from being on a team with Tsunade-sama for twenty years.” At Minato's exasperated stare, she raises her hands. “What? Two days ago Orochimaru wanted my help with some seals he was working on. I was skeptical at first, but we got to talking. He’s actually startlingly calm about the whole…” She waves a hand in the vicinity of her stomach, and though it takes a second, Kakashi realizes she’s talking about the jinchuuriki thing. “I expected him to ask a lot of probing questions and want to vivisect me, but he barely mentioned it beyond wanting to know how chakra levels effect seals.”

Minato is still frowning, but he looks faintly thoughtful now as well.

Deciding to hold off on forming his own opinion until he’s actually met the man more than just in passing, Kakashi checks when they're supposed to meet, then checks the sun, and realizes that he’ll need to hurry if he wants to have time to visit the Memorial before he leaves. “Sorry,” he says apologetically to Rin, who just smiles and waves him away. There's a faint trace of worried sadness to it, and Kakashi is almost…happy, seeing it. She’s not unaffected, then. He knows it’s poor of him to think that way, to think of _her_ that way when Obito loved her so much, but he can't stop himself.

 _Why didn’t you see before?_ he wants to ask, of her and himself in equal measure. _Why couldn’t you feel that way when he was actually_ alive _to worry over?_

But that’s not fair. Rin was Obito's friend, his _only_ friend, no matter how he wanted her to be more. She knew his dreams, his feelings, his determination. She was the one to walk with him and speak to him and earn all of Obito's wide bright grins, while Kakashi walked ahead and ignored both of them equally.

Stupid. He was _so stupid_ , and it cost Obito his life.

Minato hurries to pay for their meals and kiss Kushina goodbye, then falls into step with Kakashi as he heads for his apartment. Kakashi glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and Minato smiles, bright and disarming. It’s his politics smile, the one he uses to bullshit clan heads into not looking too deeply into things, and Kakashi raises an unimpressed brow in return. He’s not a clan head, and he’s certainly not going to fall for it.

“I’ll walk you there?” Minato offers guilelessly, and Kakashi rolls his eyes and looks away, giving in to the inevitable.

Because the mission is billed as reconnaissance and intelligence gathering, Kakashi packs lightly but makes sure he’s going in well-armed, especially given who he’s partnered with. Minato hovers the whole time, not quite clucking over him though it’s certainly close. He’s been doing this before _every_ mission Kakashi or Rin has gone on recently, though, so Kakashi is used to it by now, and puts up with it in silence.

But Minato's presence means that he won't be able to visit the Memorial, which makes a knot of stone settle low in Kakashi's gut. He is…uncomfortable with Minato knowing just how many times he finds himself drifting there during the day, to the point where he’s started showing up to appointments late because of it. Kakashi can't bring himself to care about the tardiness, though, because—

Because that was what Obito did. That was Obito's quirk, and it’s only right that Kakashi, the one responsible for his death, should carry on with it. He hasn’t quite managed to work up the guts to give one of Obito's excuses yet, but…soon. Soon he’ll be able to spout off one of those ridiculous tales, and everyone will accuse him of lying, just as they always did Obito.

But Obito wasn’t lying, and Kakashi will be, because that’s the difference between them. That’s the divide. Obito was _real_ , a real friend, a real shinobi, a real hero, and Kakashi is none of those things.

Just a boy who got his best friend killed because he couldn’t be bothered to act like a human, rather than some emotionless automaton who only understood an abstract set of rules.

Kakashi takes a breath, feels it shake, and clenches a hand around the strap of his pack, white-knuckled and aching with tension.

“Kakashi,” Minato says quietly, pulling him to a halt a few yards from the northern gate and turning him to meet that intent blue gaze. “I know what Rin and Kushina said, but…just be careful, okay? Orochimaru has always been particularly interested in the Sharingan, and I don’t know if it will be made better or worse by the fact that you're not an Uchiha but can still use one of their eyes. So keep your eyes open and don’t let your guard down, no matter how polite and personable he is.”

As ever, Kakashi's stomach twists at the mention of his new eye, but Minato is his sensei, his team leader, and his hero, so he just nods and murmurs, “Don’t worry, Minato-sensei. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course he will. Believe me, Namikaze, I will allow nothing to happen to your precious student,” a voice drawls from just ahead of them, and Kakashi and Minato both twist to look at the speaker.

Orochimaru is leaning against the corner of a building, golden eyes resting on them, clad in a dark blue robe with grey trim. He isn’t carrying a pack like Kakashi, but his long, heavy jian is belted at his waist, and his weapons pouches are full. Uncrossing his arms, he pushes away from the stone and steps towards them, bonelessly graceful in a way that isn’t so much appealing as it is eerie. Human bodies—even trained shinobi bodies—aren’t supposed to move like that. But his smile is perfectly polite, without the smug edge of a sneer he was wearing both of the times Kakashi previously came face to face with him.

“Orochimaru,” Minato says, equally polite, offering his Hokage Candidate smile. It’s all warmth and friendliness, and yet never quite manages to reach his eyes.

Orochimaru looks just as unimpressed to be on the receiving end of it as Kakashi felt, though he simply inclines his head and then shifts to face Kakashi. “Hatake,” he offers evenly. “I've heard good things about you. This mission will likely require a variety of abilities, and as much speed as we can safely spend. Are you adequately prepared?”

It’s fairly shocking not to be treated like a child, though perhaps Kakashi shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Orochimaru was a child genius as well, and he likely knows how such things grate. “Yes, sir,” Kakashi answers, and Orochimaru waves a hand as though annoyed.

“Not ‘sir’,” he corrects. “You may use my name in any form you wish aside from Jiraiya's various butcherings. Which reminds me.” Golden eyes edged with purple settle on Minato again, and one pale hand offers up a small, intricately patterned wooden box. “You are being sent to reinforce Jiraiya's unit in the northwest tomorrow, correct?”

Minato nods, the curiosity clear on his face. “Yes,” he answers. “We leave at dawn, and should reach them by noon the following day if we aren’t waylaid.”

“Would you be kind enough to pass this on to Jiraiya, with my compliments?” Orochimaru asks, and he doesn’t quite look away, but there's a shift to his shoulders that says he would like to. “I would…appreciate it.”

That does nothing to clear up Minato's clear mystification, but he nods agreeably and accepts the little box. “Of course, Orochimaru. Take care of Kakashi. I’ll be expecting him back in one piece.” The words are lighthearted, but there's a spark in Minato's eyes that says he’s very far from joking. Kakashi would protest being treated like some sort of witless incompetent, but…this is Minato's way of worrying.

Given how the Kannabi Bridge mission turned out, Kakashi can't really blame him.

Orochimaru turns away without bothering to respond, making for the gate with deceptively quick, gliding steps, and Kakashi waves briefly to Minato before he follows quickly, jogging to catch up as Orochimaru steps off the road and leaps up into the branches.

Kakashi spares one last glance for his teacher before he follows the Snake Sannin out the gates.

 

They're several hours from Konoha, moving through the trees at a good clip, before Kakashi feels settled enough in this strange company to ask, “Can you give me mission specifics?”

Orochimaru lands lightly on the next branch and pauses, tilting his head to scan their surroundings. Then, with a short nod, he folds himself down to sit on the wide limb, gesturing for Kakashi to join him. “I can,” he agrees, and though his body language is relaxed his eyes are wary and alert. “It will likely be dangerous, but with any luck, it will also be straightforward.”

Kakashi very carefully doesn’t scoff. He can't remember the last time an important mission went smoothly.

Apparently reading the skepticism on his face, Orochimaru snorts softly, but doesn’t address it. “An informant recently alerted me of suspicious activity near the Mountains’ Graveyard in the north. Hostile forces, with an unnamed Konoha shinobi as their hostage. Given the state of the war and the way Konoha's forces are currently deployed, a significant attack mounted from that direction would likely cripple us. I thought it best to investigate personally, and either deal with the problem myself or send you back to the village for reinforcements while I keep an eye on the situation.”

It takes effort not to be disgruntled that he’s been dragged all the way across Fire Country to play messenger boy. Kakashi firmly tramples down the urge to scowl, but can't quite stop his eyes from narrowing at the Snake Sannin. Surely one of the chuunin—

“ _Should_ we find a force small enough to be handled by two shinobi,” Orochimaru cuts in, raising an arrogant, smug brow at him, “I would prefer to have a competent jounin at my back, Hatake. Were this the kind of thing a chuunin could handle, I would have brought Anko.” And then, apparently reading Kakashi's next thought on his face as well, adds dryly, “I assure you, Hatake, I am not a Yamanaka. But I have had more than two decades to learn to read body language, and however much of your face that mask covers, it doesn’t hide everything.”

A little bit impressed despite himself, Kakashi nods and says simply, “Sorry.” He’s used to being around shinobi, of course, but most of them at least pretend to think and act and react the way a civilian would, for the most part. Orochimaru is either incapable of it or just doesn’t care. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s been trained practically since birth to read a person, or pick out motives, or manipulate others. Even the Hokage—perhaps _especially_ the Hokage—plays at being regular, either to throw off his enemies or set the villagers at ease, but Orochimaru…doesn’t.

Kakashi isn’t quite sure whether he dislikes or respects him all the more for it.

Orochimaru brushes the apology off, checking the sky above to get an idea of the time. “We’ll rest here for another half hour,” he says. “I want to reach the border before we stop again.” The Sannin doesn’t ask if Kakashi can handle the pace, something he’s grateful for; too many people, even knowing his abilities, try to treat him like the fourteen-year-old he should be, rather than the jounin he is. Even Minato does it, sometimes.

As the older man resettles himself more comfortably, withdrawing a small notebook from one of his weapon pouches, Kakashi leans back against the trunk of the tree and watches him curiously. He is…interested in this man, another of Konoha's geniuses, but with a reputation unlike any other. Morino Ibiki in particular, Kakashi remembers, tends to shudder and twitch at the mention of his name. Kakashi himself had little to no opinion on the man until just a short while ago, but what he’s seen since is fairly confusing. Perhaps it’s that they're on a mission and forced to act professionally because of it, but somehow that doesn’t feel right. For some reason, the only thing Kakashi feels from the Snake Sannin is closely guarded amusement, an undertone of smugness, and a twinge of…regret?

If it’s not regret, then it’s something very close.

“What are you working on?” he asks at length, unable to contain his curiosity any longer as Orochimaru’s pen races over his notepad. The man’s expression is thoughtful, but intense, the way Minato's is when he’s working on a particularly intricate seal. The parallel is enough to make Kakashi voice the question when he’d normally hold his tongue. Curiosity is one of his main flaws, yes, but he tends to prefer ferreting the answers out himself, rather than inquiring directly.

Nosy, Kushina calls him, rather than curious. Kakashi isn’t quite sure what the difference is.

Orochimaru glances at him, slender brows winging up in clear surprise, and then…smiles. Just faintly, but it’s noticeably genuine. “I'm restructuring the formula used to create soldier pills,” he answers readily. “There's a way to lessen the side-effects, but the process required is lengthy and costly. As it is, I can only manufacture the improved pills in small batches, and they're hardly worth the effort. Streamlining the process should be simple enough, but simplifying the formula is proving…tricky.”

Kakashi remembers Rin’s words, how Orochimaru sought her out, and the small box Orochimaru passed over to Minato, intended for Jiraiya. He gets the feeling those were the improved pills, but doesn’t ask. That Orochimaru even answered his question feels…important, somehow.

Seeing that Orochimaru has returned to his notes, Kakashi doesn’t push his luck by asking anything further. Instead, he closes his eyes and tips his head back, wishing vaguely and impotently that he’d managed even a few minutes in front of the Memorial before leaving Konoha. He had visited before meeting his team, of course, the way he always does before any sort of team gathering, but it doesn’t seem like it’s _enough_.

Of course, _nothing_ seems like it’s enough, in the wake of Obito's sacrifice.

Kakashi breathes out into the cool night air and presses a hand over his left eye, tries his hardest not to let the guilt and shame overwhelm him. He concentrates, and breathes, and focuses on the sound of Orochimaru’s pen sliding across the paper, the Sannin’s soft hum of contemplation, until they're the only things left in the world.

A brief escape, maybe, but at this point Kakashi is desperate for just about any respite, and seizes it gratefully.

 

Here at least nothing has changed from his former life, Orochimaru thinks with satisfaction, stepping into the hidden tunnel that will lead directly into Madara’s chamber. Kakashi—and how odd and amusing it is to see him as a short, skinny teenager, when Orochimaru is so used to the tall, fearsome, ferocious warrior he will become—is three steps behind him and one to the right, giving Orochimaru room to either draw Kusanagi or summon his snakes without either getting in the way or falling too far behind. Orochimaru is thankful that the Copy-Nin’s sensibility, unlike his stature, hasn’t changed over the years.

Though this entire mission is more or less staged—except for the danger, which is unfortunately all too real—to cement Orochimaru’s position as a loyal Konoha shinobi at the same time as paying his debt to the future Obito, Orochimaru is also grateful that Kakashi can be both credible witness and competent backup.

The air grows stagnant as they descend, thick with age and heavy with chakra. It takes effort for Orochimaru not to bare his teeth; the chakra from the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path is very close to overwhelming, and when he risks a swift glance behind him he can tell that Kakashi is feeling it as well. There's sweat beading the boy’s brow, and he appears even paler than normal, though his jaw is set and his tantō is gripped tightly in one hand.

“Is there a bijuu down there?” Kakashi mutters, almost too soft for even Orochimaru to hear, and the Snake Sannin has to stifle an amused snort.

“Five chakra signatures,” he murmurs in return. “One is far too vast to be human, but also stationary. One will be the hostage. The other three must be our targets. Do you have enough chakra for that unique jutsu of yours?”

Surprise flares briefly in the visible eye, but Kakashi nods and reaches up to uncover his Sharingan. “I won't be of much use afterwards,” he warns.

Orochimaru inclines his head, already calling up his own chakra. It whispers down the corridor like a stray bit of breeze, subtle but readily at hand. “That’s fine. If it’s who I assume it is, take the dark one. Aim for the head. I will handle the others. And whatever you do, _keep moving_. Don’t stop until your target is dead, no matter what you see.”

Kakashi gives him a narrow-eyed glare that all but screams _teenager who knows everything,_ and says more clearly than words could that he doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child.

 _If only you knew_ , _boy_ , Orochimaru things wryly, waving Kakashi to silence before he can respond. There's a faint breeze coming from ahead of them now, as well, and Orochimaru takes that to mean this passage is unblocked, which is lucky. He knows where other entrances are, but the nearest is a day’s travel east of them, and with his goal so close, the frustration of having to backtrack would be immense. And—

Voices. One cheerful, one deeper and more serious, and the last cracked and worn with age, all coming from almost directly in front of the row of cloaks covering the passage’s mouth.

Orochimaru smiles.

He closes his eyes, gauging distances and positions, and then flashes through the necessary signs and sweeps one hand out, sending blades of wind scything from his fingertips. They tear through the cloaks and then out into the cavern, slicing right through White Zetsu and nearly clipping Madara before the old man leaps to the side. Orochimaru wastes no time, drawing Kusanagi and throwing himself forward with all the speed he possesses. He takes in the chamber in an instant: wooden bed on a platform off to one side, the vast trunk of the tree with the Demonic Statue seated on it, Madara’s throne-like seat, and the three long tendrils connected to the eldest Uchiha. That moment is enough to get his bearings, and Orochimaru lunges, aiming for Madara’s connection to the tree.

Behind him, the sudden, crackling eruption of chirps means that Kakashi has activated his Raikiri, and the rush of footsteps heads towards Black Zetsu. Orochimaru spares half a second to fling another arc of wind at the remaining Zetsu to blind it and keep it from dodging, and then ducks and spins to catch the flat of Madara’s gunbai with Kusanagi’s edge, slicing through it with only the barest touch of effort.

Madara opens his mouth, likely to sneer something disparaging, but Orochimaru doesn’t wait—he dealt with enough of those remarks when this man was shoving Kusanagi through his chest, pinning him to the cold, blood-drenched earth like a butterfly to a card, and despite his snake-like patience he has none left for this madman. With a snarl, he calls up his summons, letting dozens upon dozens of large white vipers surge over Madara’s feet and up his legs, littering him with poisonous bites. The old man reels backwards, cursing, and Orochimaru sends another sweeping rush of sharp-edged wind to slice cleanly through the three trailing tendrils. They part with ease, falling away, and Madara staggers and stumbles, falling to his knees.

Orochimaru only waits long enough for his summons to retreat before taking Madara’s head.

 _Done_ , he thinks with vicious satisfaction as the body falls and blood spills. _Quick and permanent, Obito, as you requested._

But his debt is not quite fully paid. Not yet.

Turning away, he surveys the results of the short battle. White Zetsu is clearly dead, as is Black Zetsu, whose head is entirely gone from the force of Kakashi's Raikiri. Kakashi himself is on his knees beside the body, looking faintly green, though he straightens and nods when Orochimaru’s eyes come to rest on him.

“The bodies?” he asks, dragging the back of his wrist over his mouth as he staggers to his feet.

Orochimaru spares one last glance for the three. Both Zetsu were Madara’s will given form, and are too dangerous to be allowed to remain, even as corpses. “Burn them,” he advises. “Burn them to ash and let us scatter what is left to the wind. I won't risk one of them subverting death’s permanence, given that Madara at least already has.”

Kakashi goes a little paler at the missing-nin’s name, but nods. “I have enough chakra left,” he says stubbornly, and Orochimaru is feeling kind enough not to call him out on the exaggeration. Instead, given that he himself has no talent with fire, he simply raises a brow and steps away, heading for the vague shape on the bed, covered with a light blanket.

Obito is breathing, soft but steady, and there are lines of exhaustion carved deep into his features. Not quite as deeply as the scars, but they're certainly close, and it doesn’t surprise Orochimaru at all that the battle didn’t manage to wake him. Likely he’s been training himself, trying to adjust to having half of his body replaced and repaired. With a quiet sigh, Orochimaru leans down and gathers the lanky boy up in his arms, lifting him blanket and all from the mattress. Obito stirs slightly at that, but only enough to shift his weight and resettle before dropping back into the depths of unconsciousness.

Orochimaru looks down at the dark head resting against his shoulder and thinks of Obito as he last saw him, pale and weary, leaning over him on the battlefield with one last spark of hope left in his eyes. This boy is not the same, but he is. They are two entirely different people, but they _aren’t_.

“I will pay my debt,” he murmurs, too soft for Kakashi to hear. Jiraiya is at the forefront of his thoughts. Jiraiya, Sarutobi, Tsunade—they're all alive here, thanks to Obito. Anko is still his student, still adores him with a blind devotion that is both strange and strangely flattering in a way he had forgotten. Danzo is gone, and Orochimaru is a Konoha shinobi, and he has another chance even if he never even considered such a thing before. And it’s all the doing of this scarred, battered boy, who will wake with a power he doesn’t understand and no one to teach him how to use it.

No one but Orochimaru.

Madara is dead, but Orochimaru considers that revenge for his own death, rather than fulfilling a promise. Revenge for Tsunade's death at the mad Uchiha’s hands. Revenge for Sasuke, even if he doesn’t yet exist. Madara’s death was self-serving, self-indulgent, and therefore cannot be called payment of his debt.

But taking Obito's younger self in, caring for him where his clan won't, teaching him where no other living shinobi would be able—

That seems a fair price to pay, for living again.

“Orochimaru?” Kakashi says, as footsteps come closer, and Orochimaru clears his expression and turns to face the teenager.

“Their hostage,” he explains. “I…believe you know him.”

Kakashi glances at him, then at the body in his arms, and freezes. Mismatched eyes go very, very wide as all the blood drains from his face, and then—

And then he crumbles.

Two staggering steps forward, more lurching lunges than smooth shinobi movement, and Kakashi catches Orochimaru’s arm as his knees give out and drags the Snake Sannin down with him to the hard stone floor, both of them landing hard on their knees. His other hand latches onto Obito's, fingers seeking blindly until they settle on his wrist. Orochimaru rolls his eyes in exasperation and shifts his grip, reaching out to catch Kakashi's hand and pull it forward, up to the pulse fluttering in Obito's throat.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “It appears Madara repaired his injuries with the Shodaime’s cells. He is fine, just resting, but he will need all the sleep he can get until the rest of his body accepts the changes.”

The breath Kakashi releases is somewhere between a gasp and a sob. He’s speaking, but Orochimaru can only pick out a few words here and there— _late late always late gods you idiot you're_ alive—and he pretends deafness towards those he does hear, because for all that he’s truly terrible with people he does have some sense of courtesy.

Giving the boy some privacy in his breakdown, he looks away, judging which of the hidden passages will emerge in Fire Country. They're imbued with a complicated space-time ninjutsu to warp the distance, and Orochimaru is grateful for it. He wants to get Obito to his house—and his personal lab—as soon as possible, to make sure that nothing goes wrong. He doesn’t think it will, but it would be a poor way indeed to repay his debt.

Kakashi is still bent over Obito, one hand pressed to the side of his neck. He’s stopped speaking, but his shoulders are bowed and his eyes tightly closed, so Orochimaru tips his head back, letting his own eyes fall shut. This ending seems…anticlimactic, especially given the way Orochimaru’s life has always gone, but he can't say he dislikes it.

This is a victory. This is _his_ victory, for the sake of what will be, and a step forward.

One step forward, but that’s enough to gain a foothold in the future.

One step forward, and Orochimaru knows it is only the first of many.


End file.
